A QUICKIE ON EDUCATIONAL IGNORANCE

I was reading student journals this early morning.  As I read of what seemed like a debilitating epidemic of manic depression plaguing our campus as the semester comes to a harried close, something struck me. How often do we think, do we loudly assert, that we know students. But, in truth, almost all of us know them only in the most disengaged, distant, disconnected, abstract, generalized, stereotypical, or anonymous way. This means we usually do not know them at all; we don’t give a face or name to learning; everyone is a blur; we don’t see the stories of individuals with varied personalities and assorted experiences and different talents, subject to diverse and contesting social, personal, and family pressures, torn by disrupting forces of transformation; we have only the dimmest understanding of what each of these people are like much less what they are going through; and we usually aren’t drawn deeply below the surface into the people business of education. It all too often makes the entire process none too real.

Louis

ON THE SIXTH SENSE OF TEACHING

The billowing clouds of golden “pine pollen storms” turned the bluing skies of dawn into an eerie green. Goldfinger is here! Even the gnats and mosquitoes are gilded. At the end of last week, our Spring literally had sprung in one day from a wintry Thursday in the 40s and 50s to a summery Friday in the very high 80s. As I walked along the streets, threatened to get clogging “yellow lung,” my golden chest striped by rivulets of sweat so that I looked like a white and yellow zebra, I heard the chirping of a bird. I stopped for a moment, sneezed out some pollen, and listened. I went over to the curb and sat down. I thought of a sharp e-mail exchange I had with a student this past Friday and Saturday. I heard the bird again, and I began to feel its melody. I could feel a smile forming on my face; I could feel an awareness rising inside. I felt an awakening stirring that went beyond opening my eyes and moving my body. I felt an eagerness rising to get started and to make something happen. I got up and started walking the street again, and now walking toward the center of my inner being filled with a calm joy. 
I’ve learned since my epiphany, my cancer, my cerebral hemorrahage, that if a sweet song like that bird fills you with a happiness, if so much as a blade of grass springing up in your lawn moves you, if a spider web causes you to wonder, if the sight of stars in the night sky awes you, if a bulb popping up astounds you, if that person lying at your side fills you with gratitude, if a person in class amazes you, be glad. Be happy. Be humble. Celebrate. You are alive. Your spirit is thriving. A single bird or a single blossom or a single star or a single ray of the sun or a single person ought to be enough to convince your that today is somehow a gift of now and that it is your responsibility to bring life to life now. I told a friend of mine that all these have a secret to tell us about ourselves. They’re telling us that we each have a choice of how to see, feel, hear, taste, and live this day. We can run around and watch it pass by in a blur. We can sit around and be blinded and deafened to it by resigned or angered moans and groans. We can let it go unnoticed and take it all for granted. But, then, we’d miss out on all the fun, beauty, and significance. Or, we can honor this day, honor its love and beauty, and honor its possibilities. So, too, we can go into a classroom with a “zoned-out” blasé, blind, deaf–and maybe even heartless–“ho-hum” as though nothing is miraculous. Or, we can enter the classroom with a tuned in “wow,” knowing each day is a very special occasion and that everything is a miracle, determined to make each moment into something great.

There is nothing, however, that is self-evident. Nothing will pop up like toast or shout out to announce itself. It’s all perception. What you constantly tell yourself, you will see. What you constantly see, you will believe. True or not, what you truly believe, becomes your truth. And, you will weave your truth into every fiber of your life. Me? As a cancer survivor and survivor of a massive cerebral hemorrahage I should not have survived, much less survived unscathed, I have learned that Carl Jung was right. As I merely look outside, I dream, maybe merely passively wish; as I look inside, I am awake and alert, and I act. I feel privileged and humbled to be alive. So, I constantly remind myself that it’s great to be alive. But, I also know even more that it is not enough merely to be, that it’s not enough merely to float on the surface of life. Trust me, for as great as is to be alive, it is greater to look into every corner of my life each day with a consciously thankful heart and be astounded as hidden blessings appear. I can attest that the real joy in life is to be engaged. It is more interesting to be involved, more meaningful to participate, more purposeful to serve, and more significant to make a difference. So, I’ve got to be alive and kicking, and diving deep.

Having learned what makes for a true and deep happiness that no resume, no publication, no bank of information, no title can offer, I go into each class to bring life both to my life and that of others. You know from reading student journals, I’ve concluded that so many people are like furniture: they have to be restored, renewed, revived, and reclaimed if they are to achieve. And, we have to be like pack rats; we should never throw out anyone, for each person has an inestimable value that is so often hidden by a ratty appearance. So, I go into each class each day with my senses on full alert, especially my sixth sense. What is my sixth sense? It’s my sense of wonder as I gaze at each student. It is a wonder of each student beyond words which energizes and inspires. It is awe that moves us and moves us forward. If you want to feel alive, if you want to be alive in that classroom, move with legs that dance with that wonder, perceive with eyes to see it, inhale with lungs that breathe it, hear with ears that listen to it, feel with skin that it makes tingles, draw nourishment with every organ in your body from it. I read, live, and breath my “Teacher’s Oath” each day. And, I don’t care how I feel when I go into that class, I come alive, body and soul, and I come out from it alive; my heart is lifted to the heights of ecstatic joy and hope for all possibilities when I’m in it; I sing with the energetic notes of life when I leave it. I know each class is meaningful in some way for me. Each class makes my day each day, and you can make it do the same for you.

Louis